The Empty Cage
by Legwarmer
Summary: He raped me. I tried to flee and thought myself safe in the arms of my husband. But he came back. I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage...
1. Chapter 1

**:A/N: **Everything that needs to be said is said in the warning. This is a fanfic where Erik won't be the nicest, and I've planned it for a long time. Do not get me wrong on it. I bet that if you read it, you'll know what I mean.

**:Disclaimer:** POTO belongs to Leroux.

**:Claimer: **Madame de Jour is mine.

**:Summary: **I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.

**:Rated M**_:Warning:_ This story is about several adult themes. It contains several topics which can be humiliating for the reader. There is unwanted sexual intercourse, oppression, threat and extortion. It is about obsessement which develops animal facettes and it can be very triggering for people who have experienced any of those things. I **do not** mean to trigger any of those people, **neither** do I find pleasure in unwanted sexual intercourse or humiliation. This is merely fiction and _**I distance myself from any accusation for this fanfic to consiously hurting any reader**. **Please do not** **read this fic if you have problems with rape. **_Again, this fanfiction is about how a person, Mademoiselle Giry, deals with rape and such situations. Not about how nice rapes are. Because they aren't.

I apologise for hurting anybodywith this fanfiction. Please send me a message if something is wrong with my fic or if you have the feeling that I wrote the opposite of my position (in my fanfic)which I stated in this warning.

**:Beta-reader:** Incapability

**:Thanks to:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel for helping with minor plots and Incapability for listening to my rembling, plus making the chapter's and story's title.

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**: The Empty Cage :**

**: Chapter 1 : Spring Storms :

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**

I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.

Things have begun so easily, as if it were a story in a good book. It was summer when I saved him out of his cage, when I helped him to flee from the humiliation. We became close friends as the weeks passed, and after hiding him in the closet and on the roof, I found a place where he'd be safe. Of course everybody knew about the catacombs, they were no secret. But since they were dark and the air wasn't as fresh as prima ballerinas liked it to be, nobody ever went there to search for anything unknown. A perfect place to protect what I had always thought of as a friend until a particular day.

Months had passed and I visited Erik between classes and rehearsals, always bringing a meal with me. On my days off from classes I taught him how to read and write and realised he was much faster than me. Soon, I realised there was nothing left I could teach him and decided to steal books from the Opera's library for him.

First, I borrowed books I had loved to read in my childhood, mainly fairy tales and classics. But Erik was so fast with his nine year-old brain that he soon wanted more. I sat in the library for hours, looking through books about architecture, paintings, science books, all of which I didn't understand in the least and, to be honest, did not have interest in. My interests were rather in acting and dancing, and I could do that best. Finally, I found books with poems in them and brought them to Erik.

"Antoinette, these poems are beautiful," he had said, "please, can you bring me into the library?"

First, I thought it was a joke. It was an insane idea, and I couldn't risk both of us being thrown out. But Erik's serious face made me realise it was none. Finally, after hours of disagreement, I brought Erik up into the library at night when nobody would see us. I still remember how we hushed through the halls, waiting at every corner for spying eyes. We spent the whole night at the library, pulling books out of the shelves, turning pages and pages of literature and poems. None of us thought about actually going to the science section or anything else that was adult themed. We remained at modest themes as love stories. Early in the morning, even before dawn, I brought him back down. When we reached his lair, he turned towards me, telling me with his young, high-pitched and warm voice: "Antoinette, you don't need to bring me books anymore. I'll get them myself."

And so, I stopped doing it. Erik began to steal food himself and soon I didn't have to look after him too much. Since I missed him a lot, I went back down, anyway. Every evening, he would read poems out loud to me, and so the years passed. When he was fourteen, his interest in more adult poems began to grow, and I found him talking to me about topics I wouldn't even talk about in the deepest darkness. Philosophy was his new passion, and passion, too. "Antoinette, what do you think is meant by 'share a bed' in this line?"

I didn't even know. Was a sixteen-year-old educated in sexual themes? Not at all. The other ballet girls only talked about the changes their body underwent, but boys or men were never mentioned. I myself noticed a lot of changes, and suddenly, Erik's eyes seemed looking at me differently. I leaned over to him and said: "Erik, don't ask me these things! I don't want to talk to you about them!" Clearly, I tried to hide that I didn't know about it and the chills that topic caused me weren't comfortable.

So, Erik and I stopped talking about adult themes. He brought back all the books that had to do with love because I refused to talk about it, and so he came to learn about architecture, religions, even music. He somehow stole a piano, and even today I do not know how. Although the "new" topics were not interesting to me at all, I still visited him at night and sometimes even stayed to sleep in his bed. He would talk to me so much about Catholics, witches, and componists that I simply had to listen to him. We needed something in common, and he taught me everything he read in the books. I found myself thinking about Catholics, witches and componists as well and today, I daresay Erik helped me using my brain instead of thinking like all the other girls. At night, I would grab one of his books and read them myself. This made Erik laugh in triump, oh, I remember…

Things went so well and I couldn't even imagine they would not do so. But one night, things changed. They changed so drastically that I can still feel the shock. It was when my ballet master introduced an older man to me, telling me I should marry him soon. "You are not getting younger, Mademoiselle, you are already 18 years old," she said, "and let us face it. You're a better teacher than a ballerina." I had no problems with that, I didn't even care. So much have I read about love that I knew it wouldn't be found in marriage, but marriage was the only way to guarantee me daily meals. Exactly two days after I got to know my soon-to-be husband, my whole world turned upside down. Oh, how little did I know about what was happening…

That night, I went down to Erik. He was different somehow. When I reached his lair, I saw him standing up from his bed, pushing books aside to make room. "Good evening, Mademoiselle Giry," he said, "how nice to see you tonight." Yes, I have to say I did not fear a thing. I sat down on his bed, watching him kneel at my feet. He touched my knees and I smiled, not fearing anything. Slowly, he pulled my skirt up to my knees, now kissing my skin. My mouth fell open, I wanted to object, say that he was about to do something that was not very chaste. "Erik! What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He sat down on the bed next to me, looking at me. "Nothing. It's nothing." His hand touched my cheek and I smiled, feeling he wouldn't do me any harm. I had known him for years and trusted him. Alas, I was proven differently. His hand went down my neck very fast, stopping at my cleavage, resting there for a while. His eyes observed me. "Erik, please, what is this about?"

"I like you, Antoinette. Why don't you trust me?"

And I didn't. I felt my body want more of his fingers on my cleavage, but my mind clearly said no. I hadn't done anything like that before and wasn't too fond of Erik's speed at it. "I can't do that," I said, "Erik, it's wrong."

"Shut your mouth," he said, leaning over to kiss me. I pushed him away. "Erik, I said no!"

"Don't you ever say no again," he said and something dark in his eyes told me I shouldn't. It was something that I hadn't seen in his eyes before and feared to ever see again, and so I kept my mouth shut and let him do whatever he pleased.

Seconds later, his hands touched places that would not be shown to anybody but me, and I gasped. "Erik, please don't do this," I said, tears running down my cheeks. But he did. Not listening to my begs, he did it, he did it the whole night, until finally, he let go of my hands, rolled aside and fell asleep, exhausted. I wiped the tears away from my cheek, still feeling his sweat on my body.

What humiliation it had been. My only friend betraying me like this, doing things to me I hadn't even read about, doing things I clearly stated I didn't want. He scared me, this darkness in his eyes scared me to the bones, and I felt I wouldn't stay alive if I objected. I pulled the blanket to my chin, freezing a little, ashamed of my body. I didn't know what had happened, I only felt the wet between my thighs and the pain and cried again, cried and cried on, until there was nothing left to cry out of myself. He had been my only friend, and I knew something was severely wrong. I grabbed my clothes and as soon as I had stood up from the bed, I saw the blood. Breathing heavily, I put on my dress and didn't give him another look. My feet carried me back into the girls' hall where I silently washed myself at a bucket. As soon as my head touched my white pillow, my eyes closed and I fell asleep, not dreaming anything.

I can still recall the next day. As usual, the girls were woken up by Madame de Jour, our ballet master. Her loud voice told us to move out of bed, and I felt very stiff trying to move my legs. Immediately, the memories of the night before stroke my mind and I had difficulties to keep my tears. Thank God the pain was gone. During classes, I thought about the night all the time, trying to find out what had actually happened. How foolish I was, not knowing about what men do to women. Madame de Jour silently whispered to me some moments after the class had ended that my soon-to-be husband would marry me within a month. She touched my arm. "We will have to talk about marriage, soon. Especially about what you'd need to let your husband do. But that we'll arrange later. Go and have lunch!"

That, indeed, was easier said than done. I couldn't swallow anything, and what actually reached my stomach wouldn't remain too long. That evening, I looked at myself in the mirror, all pale. A letter was waiting for me on my pillow, and opening it, I saw that there were only a few words written on it.

_If you don't come down, I'll come up._

And I knew he would.


	2. Visitor At Night

**:A/N: **Dear readers, lol, I like to begin my author's note with this! Here is another chapter, and the plot for the following ones is already up. I hope you'll enjoy it.

**:Disclaimer:** It's not mine, nothing of this is! (And I do not mean the plot but the characters and the main idea)

**:Claimer: **Madame de Jour is mine. Plus, the plot does belong to me!

**:Summary: **I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.

**:Rated M**_:Warning:_ Read "warning" in chapter one, "Spring Storms". I won't repeat myself a thousand times.

**:beta-reader:** Incapability

**:Thanks to:** MmeGiry, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz (spelling? I'll never get it right, I'm SO sorry!) and Incapability

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**: The Empty Cage :**

**: Chapter 1 : Visitor at Night :

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**

The envelope and the note fell onto my pillow very slowly as if somebody had slowed down my apperception. With the grace of a feather, the envelope landed on the white cover of my pillow and a shadow formed in the dim light of the candle on my bedside table. Suddenly, the door opened and the noise of it made me flinch very hard, roughly pulled back into reality. I hastily grabbed the envelope to hide it behind my back and turned around, trying to cover my fear with a smile. "Oh goodness," Madame de Jour said, "you're pale." She came closer and with every step, my nerves stiffened. "Do you remember that we wanted to talk about your husband?" I shook my hand and clinged to the folds of my skirt, rumpling the envelope. Did I even hear what she was saying? She went on talking to me about something, but my mind was so clouded I barely knew what to do. "Is something wrong?" Madame de Jour leaned her head to the side, frowning. I shook my head, rambled something about an illness I had just made up and excused myself. Today, I know why Madame de Jour began to keep an eye on me. My behaviour started to become very dubious, and since she hadn't fallen on her head in childhood and all her senses were perfectly intact, it was no wonder she detected the problem some time later. Too late? Soon enough?

I ran down the hall, my brain working hard and felt my heart beat against my chest. 'Where to hide?', I thought, almost stumbling across my own feet, which tried to flee slowlier than I wanted them to. I already felt the sweat that would come soon, but kept running, someplace, someplace – where he wouldn't find me. A place I hadn't shown him before, a place where I'd be safe. At that time, though, I was too foolish to consider the fact that Erik had conquered the halls, rooms, walls and floors of the Opera Populaire himself and a long time ago. Turning to the left, I suddenly found myself in the girls' changing room. A sigh escaped my throat and seconds later, my knees gave up. I sank to the floor, slowly closing the door behind me. The darkness around me seemed to come closer with every breath I took, and I feared the silence. Withal, the silence pressed on my ears as if it were the whole orchestra assembled around me, playing their favourite piece right into my ears. I pulled my knees to my chin and sat in that position for what felt like forever. It might have been some seconds, minutes, hours – the silence and darkness around me swallowed every earthy feeling I had left inside of me. Then, I decided I couldn't sit by the door forever. He would find me if he opened the door, he might be so angry that he'd throw it open – and what would be left of me wasn't going to please anybody who didn't like to go to the morgue.

Slowly enough to realise what was in front of me, I crawled through the room, touching the air. Sometimes, my hand landed on the benches on which we girls put our clothes before classes, other times, the wall was my only companion. Finally, I found a corner behind a bench and sat down there. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could make out parts of the room, at least those that weren't too far away from me. Already fearing I would not leave that place before the girls would come for their next class, I felt a tear running down my cheek. 'Wonderful,' I thought, rubbing my fingers to feel that they were still there, 'before it has begun, I am already crying.' It seemed as if hours had passed, and my head leaned against the cold wall, and a dizzy chill grew from my toes to my fingers. Would he find me here? Did he even know about this room? I closed my eyes and felt how tired of the day I was, not having eaten a single thing that remained in my stomach, having trained very hard, left alone all the emotions my poor soul had to stand. 'You mustn't sleep,' I told myself alarmingly, but sleep won the battle. But I didn't even have time to dream. A second after I had closed my eyes, or at least it seemed likely, the door was pushed open and a dim light fell into the room. My body froze immediately, my eyes stared at the person standing in the door. He had found me. And he hated objections.

To my surprise, he did not scream or pull me out of the room by my hair. Slowly, with confident steps, he approached me and came to a halt in front of me. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he grinned. I still stared at him, feeling my heart beat against my chest in angst. I felt nothing but fear, and my mind was only able to look at his evil smirk. That moment, I was not in the mental state to make plans on how to get rid of him… I gulped, still staring at him, and didn't dare to respond. "I said good evening," he repeated, his voice suddenly sugar-sweet. "Have you missed me?" He kneeled down next to me, putting the candlestick on the floor. "Have you?" His hand reached out for me but I winced and finally dared to react, suddenly turning my head from him. I could hear him breathe, so silent it was. "Antoinette," he said, now not sugar-sweet but rather upset, "be delighted that I haven't punished you for hiding from me. But I will, for turning your head from me. You should be highly thankful for my mere presence, left alone what joy I shall bring you." I was disgusted by his words, feeling my stomach turn again, but at the same time, I remembered the night before and knew he had had no change of mind. He was still the same Erik, and the same Erik would do the same things to me… Or worse? The word 'punish' made me turn my head back to him, feeling more tears making their way down my cheeks to my chin to drop on my dress. My face must have had an expression of a lack of understanding, so he said, "I'll show you later. Stand up." He stood up, looking down to me. I felt as if I would never move any muscle again and the thought of standing up and going with him to feel the shame of the night before again was destroying me. "I can't," I whispered.

"You can't?"

He bent down and lifted me up to carry me. I cried and cried, powerless at the thought of all the chagrin, the agitation, the dismay. His voice was muted again. "Antoinette, don't cry," he said, "there is no reason for it. I won't do you any harm." And he lied. Oh, how much he lied.

Was I too young to understand what animalistic desire pushed him into this? Was it the lack of sexual education that stopped me from pushing him away the first time he had touched my cleavage? Was my character to naïve, too frail? God, I soon discerned I feared him copiously, for I knew he'd search for me, even if I went to far away Russia or even further away. He'd find me, and he'd punish me more. Did I think it was better to give in and close my eyes? Was I thinking at all?

We reached his lair and he put me down again. I stood in front of him and stared at his eyes which were as dark as the night itself. "Erik," I begged, "please…" But he shook his head and tore the upper part of my dress apart in response. The loud sound of it made me wince again and I swallowed a loud scream, pushing my lips together not to cough out my emotions.

When he had finished, he stood up from the bed and went over to the piano. I turned from him and whimpered a last time, feeling that there were no more tears to cry. He began to play. It was a light piece of music, perhaps composed to be played at a ball. It was the opposite of my feelings, and for that, it calmed the storm that was inside of me down. I closed my eyes again and wished myself far, far away, someplace else, - "Oh, Mademoiselle, I like to look at you. Would you turn around?" I didn't answer. His voice was sweet again but I knew how fast it could change into a vexed one. And alas, my fears were to be proven appropriately. I heard his steps approaching the bed, finally, they reached it, and his strong hand took hold of my wrist. He pulled me up and no tear escaped my eye, for I had found out there were things much worse than the pain shooting through my arm. I cannot call to mind exactly what had happened, I think he beat me really hard. He must have brought me up again, for the next morning, I woke up in the girls' dormitory, still tasting some blood in my mouth. I could barely open my eyes. Loud whispers had woken me up, and I heard people hush around my bed. Soon, I heard Madame de Jour's familiar voice. The girls must have called for her. A warm hand touched my cheek. "Antoinette, can you hear me?" I couldn't answer for some reason, feeling to weak. Everything I saw was in a blurr. The next thing I remember is that I woke up and Madame de Jour was sitting next to me. "Are you feeling better?", she asked, and I nodded my head as well as I could. "You have slept for hours. It is in the evening now, Antoinette. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied, for I felt my chest aching. "Fine," I said again, trying to remember what had taken place. "The doctor was here to take a look at you." She leaned closer, soothing me by stroking my cheek again. "Can you tell me what occurred?"

"I do not know what Madame means," I lied again. What had the doctor seen?

"Antoinette, please don't lie to me. I do not know who did this to you, but the bruises on your body are to be seen from miles. You need to rest in bed for a couple of days and let the swelling go away. Your face is fine, it's just …" She took my hand. "Your wrists are insanely blue. Please tell me who did it so that we can amerce the person adequately."

"I can't," I said, fearing Erik wouldn't let me be alive if I told her. "I cannot."

"Is it somebody I know?"

"No."

"The doctor said that… you have bruises all over your body. All over your body… Antoinette, do you know that if … a man … and a woman … they … she can be pregnant from it." I barely understood what she was saying but nodded. "You will have to marry. Soon. Really soon. Your reputation will be ruined if you don't, and neither the Opera, nor you needs this. I already spoke to your fiance, of course without telling him what occurred. He agreed on marrying you in a month, you must understand, he is a very occupied man. There are no more dangers of ruining your reputation if you agree."

"Madame – I do not undestand…"

"This is not important. You will, later. Mademoiselle Antoinette, I would recommend it highly to you. You will understand it, I promise."

And I did, later. Months later, when I waited for the red spots on my underwear which used to come once a month for several days. Those red spots which the girls talked about, saying they made them real women. Those red spots that had never been of any importance. Yet.

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_**:A/N: Thank you for reading this fanfiction.**_


	3. Promise To Stay

**:A/N:** Dear readers! Here I am back after a very busy week in which I was, alas, not able to write any fanfiction. But I'm planning on making it up to you after all. Here is another chapter, and I hope you'll gladly enjoy it! Please leave a review if you have anything to say.

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO or anything related to it.

**:WARNING:** Same warning as in other chapters. Make sure you read them at least once. I don't want any flames in my reviews stating I like rape or any other lies.

:**Beta-reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

**:Thanks to: Gerardphantomhot and Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel for reviewing! (Plus the people who put me on their story alert list, butI don't know whether they're fine with me putting their names here, so I just keep this a silent thanks to them!)**

**: The Empty Cage :**

**: Chapter Three : Promise to Stay :**

From the open door of the dormitory, I saw Madame de Jour hushing through the hall, an expression of concentration on her face, which formed deep folds onto her forehead. Her steps echoed in the stairway, warning everybody not to come too close to her. She was in a hurry and I knew that things were at high risk that morning; and so, she did not let anybody disturb her. Tears were running down my cheeks when I smiled at her. "Good morning, Madame," I said. "Are you done packing your clothes together?"

"Yes. There aren't many."

"Very well then, remember to come back every morning, but never cross the halls alone. I will follow you into the rehearsal room every morning at eight o'clock and will guide you back to your carriage every evening at five o'clock. Do never, and I repeat, never cross the halls alone."

"I understand."

"I do not want your face to be blue and beaten up again, for God's sake. Let us hope Monsieur Giry will take good care of you in his apartment."

"Yes, Madame."

Madame de Jour sat down next to me, wrapping her arms around my shivering body. "I hope you will be fine."

"I will," I bit my tongue not to lie any further, for I felt how much it had cost Madame to make the arrangements with Monsieur Giry. The marriage would be that afternoon, and Monsieur had not been very fond of marrying me under these circumstances. Of course he did not know about the rapes, it was of no need to tell him. I kissed my ballet master's cheek and, carrying my suitcase, we left the dormitory to go down into the Opera's Hall.

"I severely hope he didn't notice too much," Madame de Jour whispered into my ear. It would be the last private secret the two of us would share, for from now on, I was no longer a Mademoiselle. I would become a wife and had to be responsible for my own situation. And Madame was no longer there to care for me. I nodded at her, wiped the tears from my eyes and stepped on the streets of Paris.

X

"Madame Giry, would you like a tea?" I nodded, feeling a little odd for being called Madame. Since I had carried the title 'Mademoiselle' throughout my entire life, I was to have difficulties with certain changes. The servant girl nodded and left the room, leaving Monsieur Giry alone with me. I folded my hands on my lap, sighing.

"So, Antoinette, I hope you feel secure."

"Yes, I do, Monsieur. May I thank you again for marrying me so fast and trusting Madame de Jour? You are such a great man." I was honest, and God knows my heart had stopped beating so fast the second I had heard the priest calling me 'Madame Antoinette Giry'. The ceremony hadn't been very long, and there were only a few people. It had all been planned in a hurry, and Monsieur had borrowed a white dress for me from his mother. It didn't matter to me that day; all I wanted was to be secure in this man's house. Monsieur Giry nodded and sat down on a sofa. He looked around in the room, probably imagining spending the rest of his life with me. That is what I tried to imagine, too here, in this apartment, which was very big indeed. Madame had found a great husband for me; he had enough money to be regarded as a member of higher society, but little money enough to marry a ballet student. I felt sympathy for him, for he had saved me from a nightmare.

"You are very welcome in this house, Antoinette." He said and rubbed his chin. "I suggest the two of us spend a lot of time together. I want to know whom I am sharing my bed with."

A cold shiver ran down my spine and I felt my mind freeze in pain. Sharing one bed -? I stared at the floor, feeling the heat on my cheeks. I touched the fabric of my dress, trying to hold on to something to prevent myself from crying out loud that I did never ever want to share a bed with any man again. But it was useless. Monsieur saw my reaction to his words. "Antoinette," he stood up and knelt down in front of me, his hand caressing mine, "there is nothing to fear from me." I looked into his gray eyes, feeling that he was not lying. How could a man who did such a great thing ever lie to me? But although I felt he said the truth, my heart would never believe any man. "Yes," I said automatically, trying hard to control my voice. "I know."

"You do remember the thing the priest said about marriage?"

"Yes. It has to be set in bed." I frowned, looking down on my hands, which were shaking hard. His hand cupped my fingers and he gently pressed on them.

"Antoinette," he said, "I will not hurt you."

But he did. Except that night, I did not cry. I did not shriek, I did not try to harm him, I did not shout at him, and I did not resist. I let it be, for how could I have refused the only thing my husband demanded from me? How could I have refused anything my husband wanted for a life with him was my only assurance to be happy, safe and sound? Monsieur interpreted my lethargy during the act as childish fear, and after he rolled aside, he whispered, "You see? It did not even hurt. One day, it will be as pleasurable for you as it is for me. We will do it again and again, until you'll like it, my dear. And now sleep and let God do his work. A little baby is one of the few wishes I cannot let come true only by myself."

I nodded, closing my eyes and pulling the sheet up to my chin. I heard the servant girl leave the room. She had been in the room all the time, and after he was done, she had checked the sheet for blood. Thank God there was some, for my body still refused to take the act of love as a present from God. Now she would go to the priest, telling him our marriage was effectual. At least I had saved myself from talking to the priest about my responsibilities as a wife. He would remain silent and satisfied, then. That night I barely slept, listening to the deep breaths of my husband lying next to me. And somehow, I already felt that the nightmare was not yet over. The whole day, I had tried not to think about Erik. But at night, when everything was silent and only the moonlight fell into the room through the window, my thoughts wandered back to the Opera and him. He would be angry, oh God, angry was not the right word. He'd tremble with rage. He would smash everything that would be so silly to stay around him, he would destroy his lair in anger, he would - I did not want to think any further. My muscles stiffened at the thought of it. Was I putting other people in danger by fleeing from him? Would I be responsible for other persons' pain? The darkness around me seemed to grab me and pull me inside of it where it was even darker. Suddenly, the room seemed to be cold and the fire that had been lit in the chimney stopped burning. Only a few sparkles were left of what had been hope to me.

My fingers clenched the sheet. I still felt the blood between my thighs, still felt the pain between my legs. Fear slapped me hard in the face. And if he found out that I belonged to a different man - that I had married somebody whom I would give what he had been too secure of owning - my body? Would he search for me? Would he find me after having threatened Madame de Jour? The thought of his revenge made me tremble all the night, and I would not be able to sleep more than a couple of hours for the next years of my life. Especially after the birth of my baby, which I would hopefully give birth to, at least to make my husband a happy man, I feared Erik would steal it from me, threaten me or do anything to harm me but until that, I calmed myself, there was a lot of time. One couldn't get pregnant that fast. Could one? I completely underestimated how very fast I would see Erik again. And what other horrid things would escape his mind.


	4. Eyes

: Author's Note : I am really sorry for taking my time with the updates. The thing is that I have to write a 15 pages-homework until March 24th, and – God – it's important. But after that, I swear, I'll make it all up to you! I already have the plot for the next chapters in my head.

: Disclaimer : I don't own POTO.

: Thanks to : Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz, Gerardphantomhot, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

: Warning : Last time I'll say this. Read warning of Chapter 1.P I guess you're smart enough to calculate that my story won't be full of love or happy pink clouds!

: Beta-Reader : Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Incapability

The Empty Cage  
Chapter 4 - Eyes

I woke up in the middle of the night as a cold wind touched my face. A little somnolent, I sat up and took a look around in the dark room which was enlightened by moonlight. As my eyes focused on the direction where the wind came from, I saw that the window was open. A sigh escaped my lips. My body felt weak as I stood up and moved towards it, as if I had slept for ages instead of a couple of hours. Those days, my body ignored my wants and urged me to give it enough of its needs. Thank God Monsieur hadn't noticed my weakness, otherwise he might have thought I would be unable to bear him the child he had wanted for so long.

I closed the window with my fingertips and stared outside for some moments. Something had activated my mind and a shiver ran down my spine, leaving me highly uncomfortable. The street was empty, only some noises from further away were to be heard. That must have been the other people who were still awake at such a late hour. Paris never slept. But who had opened the window? I turned back to face the bed, thinking about Monsieur. Apparently, he was deeply asleep and I could hear his breath. Frowning, I looked out of the window again. My hands began to shake and I gulped. Who had opened the window?

Closing my eyes, I slowly turned back around. I feared something I couldn't see - something? My hands shook so badly I grabbed my nightgown to hide it. The beat of my heart rushed through my ears, increasing its pace.

I felt stupid. 'It is only an open window', I said to myself thousands of times. 'It's nothing. Open your eyes, Antoinette. You're safe.' I opened my eyes to find myself facing the bed again. On the left of it, there was nothing but empty space. On the right, on the bedside I always slept, a heavy curtain hung on the wall that Monsieur had instructed to be painted. It would be a present for me, and nobody was allowed to look behind the curtain when I was in the room. I stared at it, taking a few steps back as my back hit the wall with a dull noise. The curtain.

The curtain.

Could it be?

The curtain.

I sank to the floor, breathing heavily as I saw the curtain move. No noise of angst found the way out of my throat, for I was occupied with staring at it. My eyes filled with tears which immediately ran down my cheeks. 'Monsieur!', I thought, again and again. 'Monsieur!' But my husband noticed none of the happenings.

Then, after what seemed like hours of waiting for some magic to relieve me from my fears, the curtain moved aside.  
He had a black cape which he had wrapped around himself. His white mask drew my attention to his eyes that were looking at me calmly.

Too calmly.

I closed my eyes, hoping he would be gone when I opened them again. But he wasn't. He still stood there, looking at me. It was no look of anger, no look of disgust - neither was it a look full of joy. My heart beat so hard against my chest I had the feeling it would burst open and I would die. Now, years later, I know that death is still what I hope for - but I never got what I asked for from life.  
He noiselessly stepped forward. I pushed myself against the wall, trying to force it to swallow me. His eyes still looked at me, would not leave my eyes. As he stretched out a hand, I closed my eyes and ducked, knowing he would slap me, beat me up, throw me out of the window, do everything that could possibly harm me. I only felt his fingers carress my cheek and some moments later, his breath on my skin. It was warm, gentle, as were his lips that laid themselves on mine. The kiss lasted for a long time. I gave up on trying to flee. From that moment on, I knew there was no sense in it. He would find me anywhere. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on my neck. Heat rushed on my cheeks and he moved back.

My fingers touched the wound. It was bleeding, although not too badly. He hid the knife behind his cape and smiled. "I'll come back," he whispered. "And fear that day, Madame Giry. Fear it, Antoinette." Monsieur didn't wake up. And he didn't fear Monsieur. He could kill him within seconds if he had to, his eyes told me so. With that, he stepped next to me, pushing me aside from the window. I obeyed, slid aside and leaned my head against the wall. Tears were still running down my cheeks and the wound he had caused began to burn. It was nothing compared to the burning within me.

Even today, I wonder why I did not commit suicide. The life I had was worse than death could ever be. He knew that. And he played with me. He did whatever pleased him. After this night, he came back. God, he did.

I stood up and left for the bathroom. The mirror on the wall showed my pale face. I was shocked by my own fearful eyes. The blood ran down my cleavage, covering my nightgown in a deep red. I washed the blood off. Sitting down on the floor, I spent several hours in the bathroom. It was comfortable. Early that morning, though, I felt my stomach turn.

The moment I vomited, the servant girl stepped into the room. "Madame! Thank God! I knew you would be pregnant! Ah, and it's only been three days since the marriage. Madame, this is really fast." She sat down next to me, touching my shoulder. "Usually, it takes about a month for the morning sickness to come. But where's all that blood from?"

"I accidentally cut myself," I said, "I walk around in sleep." At least I knew how to lie properly.

"Oh God. You will have a baby. Dear Monsieur will be so proud to become the father of a cute little boy!"

He was not too keen, though, on the boy to be a girl. And much less on the girl to turn blonde after a couple of months - for my family was brown-haired and his whole family had a dark brunette hair color as well.


	5. The Glory of the Desert

:Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

:Beta-reader: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

:Thanks to: all my reviewers and readers!

* * *

**The Empty Cage **

**Chapter 5 - The Glory of the Desert**_**

* * *

** _

I coughed, wiping the tears from my eyes. The hot sun burned on my skin and my dress stuck to my sweating skin. It was so hot I barely felt my tongue. Sand rushed by in a wave of wind. From far away, I heard people call my name.

"Antoinette!"

Hot... so hot... Slowly, with all the effort I could bring up, I stepped forward. Failing to balance, I fell to the ground and rolled down the sand hill. I was breathing harshly, facing the deeply blue heaven and the sun. It burned... burned... burned my skin, burned everything.

"Antoinette!"

I felt weak and gave up on it. I would never leave the desert. Never.

"Antoinette!"

I opened my eyes. Above my head there was the worried face of my husband. Somebody grabbed my hand and took my pulse. I twinked. "Monsieur?"

"Oh Antoinette! We were so worried about you! My darling, you have been sleeping for the past two weeks."

I stared at him. Two weeks? "I -"

"Do not try to speak, Madame," a low voice on my left said. I turned my head. It was the man who must have taken my pulse. "My name is Monsieur Jobarderie."

"Did he -?"

Monsieur stared at me, his eyes wide open, "Who did what?"

"...come?"

"Who?"

"He."

"But there was nobody here, Antoinette. Try to sleep now." He cast another worried look at Monsieur Jobarderie, and both of them left. I was too weak to pay much more attention to them. He hadn't been there. Satisfied, I closed my eyes again to fall asleep for another day.

After another two weeks, I was able to walk again and slowly my mind came back to me. Monsieur Jobarderie came to see me twice a day. "You've had an infection from the cut on your neck," he had said, "and I feared it would crawl up to your head. You had to rest." He had grinned. "But there is no need for you to worry. I was there all the time."

A pain shot through my chest. A doctor who had nothing better to do than stay with his patients for the whole day was no good sign. "What about...?"

"Your baby?"

"Yes."

He fell silent. At my further urging, he finally explained, "there is a high risk for complications. The very first weeks are highly important. You haven't eaten enough," he pointed at my fingers. "I could see all your bones when I helped washing you." He grinned again.

Disgust struck me. Had he seen - but there was not enough time to be more disgusted about this man who claimed to be a professional doctor.

Well, Monsieur Jobarderie was probably not one of the most honorable men, for he felt sexually attracted to me which was overly obvious. But he was right about my baby.

The next months passed by fast. Everybody was very concerned I might not be fine. At night, another servant girl would sit next to me to take care that I would not be able to cut myself again. At least he left me alone for a couple of months during my pregnancy. But today, years later, I know why he did not come. He had better things to do - some preparing to come later.

The pregnancy did not cause me too many problems. Monsieur loved me even more, he was grateful that I survived and kept the baby. A lot of people came to talk to me and keep me company, and so I developed to have 'friends'. Those friends, though, might as well not have been there at all. It was not entertaining at all, perhaps because I hated other people. I was good at keeping myself some company and did not care about others. Other people would cause me pain.

The birth of my baby was barbarous. I lay there in pain for days and days, wishing again death would relieve me. Monsieur Jobarderie did not seem to care much about me - the baby was highly important. "The boy," of course. Nobody cared about how loud I screamed and cried.

Finally, I heard it scream. Breathing fast, I sank back into the pillows. Monsieur turned from me to walk to the window, followed by the other servants. Silence sounded through the room. I was so weakened that I could only frown and ask, "What is it?"

But nobody replied.

They left. They left me alone in the hot room between all the blankets that were full of my blood. There it was again, _the desert - hot... the sun... burned...

* * *

_

"They left me alone, Monsieur!", I cried at him, falling into his arms. "They were all gone!"

"Shhhh..." Monsieur hissed into my ear. "You're fine, Antoinette, aren't you?"

"Where is my baby?"

He looked at me and shook his head. "We gave it away."

My heart was torn apart. "What -?"

"It was ... my dear. We knew something likely would happen. Back at the beginning of your pregnancy, you have been in a coma for two weeks."

"Where is my baby?" I stared at him, clenching my fingers into his arms. Where did they bring it? What was he talking about?

"You were too ill... the baby was deformed."


	6. La frayeur n’est rien morte

**:Author's Note:** Well, please do tell me what you think.

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO, but you know that.

**:Thanks to:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Gerardphantomhot (aw, thanks for your loverly message! It's nice to hear how much this story is a cliffhanger, lol) and Incapability (isn't he evil?) for reviewing the last chapter!

_Thanks to everybody for keeping track to this story and reading it. I hope I won't disappoint you!_

**:Beta-reader: **Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

**:The Empty Cage:**

**:Chapter 6 – La frayeur n'est rien morte:**

I walked down the hallway consciously slowly and stopped at a door. She had grown a lot in the past two months, my little daughter. I always knew she could make it.

"Good night, Madame Giry", the nursmaid said, turning around to me to give me the baby. I reached out for it and took it, smiling down at my precious child. She was the only thing God had given me – and I wanted to keep it. "She's fine, isn't she?"

"Yes, Madame Giry," she gave back. "Meg eats a lot."

"I already thought so. She needs to grow and get stronger." I touched her little ears, watching her sleep in my arms. "She is amiable. You're amiable, Meg, did you hear me?" I lightly rocked her. "I just wanted to take another look at her before I'd go to sleep." The nursmaid nodded. "How is her leg? Does she move it?"

"Not yet, Madame Giry. Those things take time," she answered, but I could hear pity in her voice.

"Well then," I looked at her again, taking a deep breath to tear my thoughts from her, "I have some business to attend to." I gave Meg back to the nursemaid, not without feeling a little stich in my heart. Deformed or not, she was my daughter.

I found my husband waiting for me in the bedroom. He was pretending to be lost in thoughts when I stepped in front of him. I patiently waited for any reaction to my presence.

He still didn't look at me. "Antoinette – why did you bring her back?"

"She is our daughter." I felt that I would get furious but nevertheless knew that it was not my place to have that type of feelings. After all, it was me who had caused trouble with bringing Meg back into the house. Monsieur had never wanted to keep the child, but I did. "You'll be proud of her one day."

"And who will marry her?", he asked, finally looking up. "Who will marry such a deformed child? We'll have to keep her in that room for the rest of her life, Antoinette. For the rest of it. Nobody shall ever know she exists."

We had talked about this matter a lot of times and I decided to remain silent. I was thankful enough Monsieur hadn't beaten me for bringing the child back. He stood up and stepped behind me.

"You are to blame for my unhappiness," he breathed into my ear, his hand touching my neck. "You shall make it up to me."

"Yes," I said, "yes…"

"First, by giving birth to a boy." From behind me, he started to open the breeches of my dress. "And secondly, you will do whatever I want you to."

"Monsieur – she is your daughter…"

"Oh!", he snapped and pulled at my corset so violently that I gasped for breath. "Is she?"

I nodded, seeing black spots in front of my eyes. "Monsieur…" He let go of it.

"She is blonde," he hissed, "isn't she?"

"Yes," I whispered, tears running down my cheeks. "Yes, she is."

"I will love the next child," he said, cupped my breasts and pulled me close to him. "And the next one will be _mine_."

There was no reason for me to object. That night, my husband was not as tender as he had been the nights before we shared the bed. He was obsessed with the thought of becoming a father. Being suave and gentle with me was of no more value to him. Not before I'd give him what he had longed for his whole life.

And I did.

His name would be Michel.

From that day on, Monsieur would be gentle to me again. The love he thought to feel for me came back the second he held Michel in his arms and it would last for the rest of his life. He was so thankful for having his one and only wish fulfilled, nothing could ever destroy his sympathy for me. He apparently forgot about Meg and all his attention was upon Michel. He began to hate the sound of her name, for the more time I spent with her, the more he blamed me for not being with Michel - and I can still recall the look on his face when I asked him to employ a teacher for her. That evening, moreover, would change the rest of my life. Drastically.

"Monsieur, she is already six years old!"

"I know. But what about Michel? Why do you always prefer this deformed bastard?"

"He is only three years old. He couldn't even read if we tried to teach him, he is simply not old enough. Please, Monsieur!" I touched his hand and hoped at least that time my charms would work wonders.

"That would involve telling somebody about her existence!"

I felt tears rushing into my eyes. "She's been in that room for her whole life."

But there was no discussing about Meg. Monsieur would never accept her as being a human. I stared down on my food, feeling sick. I hated those dinners. They were frustrating and lonely. When I think back to those years of my life now, I can say they were the safest ones. But things you do not appreciate greatly enough get stolen too fast.

"We will have a guest for dinner tomorrow."

"A guest who hasn't been here before?" I frowned. Usually, my husband did not tend to change his friends every so often. He was a steady man, and the people who came to see us were always the same ones.

"It's a new gentleman in business. His name is Monsieur Frayeur."

"Will he bring his wife?"

"He does not have one."

"Well, why not? How old is he?"

"He should be a little younger than you are. As I've already said, I do not know much about him. He's got a questionable past, but since he works properly and has money, I cannot see a reason why we should not become friends."

"What do you mean by 'questionable'?" I got a little nervous. I did not want unknown people around the house who may be dangerous for Meg.

"He wears a white mask, so…"


	7. N'ais pas peur du froid, Antoinette

**:Author's Note:** Voila, sweeties! Here is another chapter, and it's better than the last one. I guess I am really improving my writing skills. (Well, it was time for that, wasn't it:horrid look at herself:)

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO, no matter how much I dream about it. The quotes used are not mine but belong only to Charles de Montesquieu.

**:Claimer:** My idea! My plot! Leave your fingers off it.

**:beta-reader:** Incapability, astrakane, Olethron

**:Thanks to:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Gerardphantomhot, Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz (were back! Yay! Loads of time to review my chapters! Lol) for reviewing chapter 6. Special thanks of course to all my readers.

"_I have never known any distress that an hour's reading did not relieve."_ Charles de Montesquieu, 1689-1755

**: The Empty Cage :**

**: Chapter 7 : N'ais pas peur du froid, Antoinette :**

_:Fear not the cold, Antoinette:_

I swallowed and stared at Monsieur. A horrible thought crossed my mind. After several long seconds of watching my husband with an alarmingly fast heart beat, I realised I had to control my face or he would notice my distress. But he didn't. He only read the newspaper as intently as if it said Napoleon had come back to steal the throne.

My gaze wandered down to my plate full of meat and potatoes but I felt my stomach turn. Instead of fainting right on the spot, my shivering hand took the glass of wine and held it so tightly that I feared I could possibly break it.

The servant girl stepped next to me. "Madame, would you like a glass of water?"

I only nodded in response, unable to let any words pass my dry throat. Over and over again, I wondered how he had managed to come back _that_ way.

The servant girl departed and I felt her sorrowful look prick into my back. Deliberately, I laid my fork and knife down and dared to peek at Monsieur. Pearls of sweat formed on my palms. He still ignored my silent cries for further explanations of where the man with the mask came from and what he wanted to do. The silence that lay between us did not gather his attention. It was not until the servant girl came back with the useless glass of water that he ignorantly looked up and said, "My dear! You are so pale. Is something wrong with you?"

I gulped and found the courage to ask the question that had burned on my tongue. "Where is he from, Monsieur?" With some shock, I heard my own voice speaking too sharply. I was unable to cover my mental state. Who could have resisted it? My emotions were too strong.

"Antoinette, I think you should lie down." He stood up, walked around the table and stroked my cheek almost like a caring husband. Almost like a loving husband. If his intentions hadn't been selfish… he needed me to represent his domestic luck and happiness, thus I had to be at the peak of my charms, which would hopefully represent themselves in my beauty and an endless smile on my lips . "We don't want you to become ill. All of us need you." I stared at the seat he had sat in and couldn't tear my eyes off it.

"Monsieur, how do you know him?"

"He is a rich man and I know him from work. As people have told me, he is new in town. He's from Toulouse." His warm hand gently squeezed mine. "He really is, apart from that white mask on his face, a very friendly gentleman. He was so eager to get to know you that I told him everything about you."

I nodded and closed my eyes. "So you want to be friends with this man?"

"Yes," he replied, "yes."

"Well then, I had better speak to the cook about tomorrow's dinner." I stood up and rushed out of the room, leaving my husband behind in the dining room. When there was nobody but me in the hall, I sank down to the floor, hid my face behind my hands and began to cry.

People say you cannot change your fate. Quotes rushed through my head and I hit the floor with my fist. Erik loved Montesquieu. He knew all his wise words by heart. _"Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favors for big ones." _I knew he had something planned. Erik would not come back for nothing. He would snare my husband until he got what his mad heart desired.

He didn't want money. That was something he already had.

He wanted something he couldn't possess because somebody else already had it.

I counted up to a hundred and tore my thoughts from the horror they had just formed. Slowly, I stood up and moved to the bedroom only to sink down again. My bed was cold but comfortable and I rolled on my stomach to not stare at the ceiling. I was interrupted in my pathetic attempt to ignore the world as somebody entered the room. By the footsteps I could tell it was the servant girl. I did not listen to her words as she undressed me and laid me back into the bed, for I heard nothing but Erik's voice inside my head.

"Antoinette," he whispered, "Antoinette… I told you I'd come back. You thought yourself safe but I will love to prove you differently."

Some time later that night, my husband lay down next to me. His hands were cold as they touched my leg. "Antoinette," he whispered in Erik's voice, "Antoinette. It's me." I must have moved away from him. "Come closer," he kept on whispering, "it's your husband, Antoinette. I'll keep you warm, sweet love." But he was so cold… Erik began to stroke my legs and pulled the nightgown up. I winced. "But Antoinette," Erik objected and didn't show any shame for neglecting my mental state. "It is my right. You'll like it, too. We haven't done it in quite a while," he said, "it'll make your cheeks red again. You won't be ill anymore, but simply beautiful for tomorrow."

How disgusted I was by Erik's hands touching me, his lips on my skin… His voice ringing in my ears. His moans were revolting and grew in their horror as they got louder. When he finally sank down on me and breathed heavily into my ear, I sighed. It was over. At least for that day.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"_Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favours for big ones."_ Charles de Montesquieu, 1689-1755


	8. The End

**:Author's Note: **Yup, you can actually stop pulling knifes out of your socks to kill me for not having updated for such a long time. I am speaking honestly when I say that I had a huge writer's block for this piece of fiction, and the fact that I started writing other fiction, e.g. "Face Transplant" or "Je t'aime", doesn't really help it. But I do owe you something, and quite an idea has just washed my mind into a clear-white state instead of the usual gray shade party, so take a breath and read. I loved all of your reviews, and I hope you will enjoy my future writing as well. And if you don't, well, what are there review-buttons for?

**:Disclaimer:** I most certainly do not own "The Phantom of the Opera", nor would I want to, otherwise I'd probably not leave a room full of mirrors in a lifetime.

**:Claimer:** I don't think you honestly want to steal something, but go ahead. It's your life you're ruining with it, not mine!

**:Thanks to:** Sukari, Armwarmer and for this chapter, special thanks to Anrion!

_"Murder is born of love, and love attains the greatest intensity in murder" Octave Mirbeau_

**: The Empty Cage :**

**: Chapter Eight : The End :**

"So, Monsieur, I believe we have quite a chat ahead of us." Jacques sat down on a wooden stool behind the iron stacks that seperated him from Erik and made very clear that Erik would not leave the place until death. "You may begin to talk." Silence. "If there is anything you'd like to say."

In the darkness, Jacques could barely make out Erik's face, but he saw that he was leaning against the wall. When he still hadn't moved, Jacques sighed loudly and shook his head. "No, really, I have some questions, so you better speak. I believe it will not get you out of here," he looked around and frowned, "but at least I could arrange it to be a little more comfortable, especially for such a rich man like you are."

Time passed by and Erik still didn't speak. Jacques knew what he was doing; it had been his job for many years. But this time, it was different. This time, it was a murderer who had killed two people and not even cared about leaving the scene. "Erik. Please."

A loud sigh – this time, it was Erik's – indicated that he was now ready to talk. Jacques felt his back muscles stiffen… he had waited for this moment for a long time. This murder had been a mystery to him ever since he had stepped a foot into that cursed house, and of course he would find out why Erik had done it someday – how many days had he spent down here, in this rotten place? Hours and hours of silence, and Erik had not moved an inch. But now… now…

"You wouldn't understand."

He had spoken. Jacques scratched his forehead. "Well, let us try. You never know."

"I loved the look on her face when I killed her… what was your name again?"

"Jacques."

"I loved it, Jacques… I loved it… she had me waiting for that moment for ages, and then all my dreams came true. Tortured! Oh, poor Mademoiselle… Antoinette! But I guess I was too intelligent to let you live."

"Monsieur, would you explain to me where you got to know Monsieur Giry?"

"She would always scream and I would always have to hit her. What a shame! She could have been so passionate about it…"

"So I believe you got invited. When did you arrive?"

"I loved her screams… I had truly missed them… Oh, how satisfied I was, seeing that face… scared to death… death… yes, that was what she deserved!"

"Would you please –"

"Ah, and that Giry guy had to go eventually. He was in my way. Even tried to protect her, that wimp. Barely left her side until I knocked him down …"

It finally dawned to Jacques that he wouldn't come very far this way, so he moved on. "Why did you kill him?"

"Ugh," Erik sighed again as if to say that the answer was even more than only self-evident, "he would have tried to get her back. The way he spoke about her… of course it was getting on his nerves that she would constantly call him Erik when he slept with her…," he spoke on while Jacques blushed in the darkness, "but eventually, he had to go. They all had to go. He touched my Antoinette! He had to go."

"You are aware of the fact that…"

"Shut up. It's my turn to talk, or I'll have you killed, too." Something about the situation told Jacques to really keep his words to himself, and so, Erik went on. "Actually, you should go, too…" The last memory Jacques had was that suddenly, Erik's hand had rushed to him between the iron stacks and grabbed his throat, squeezing it so hard he barely got out his last words. "Erik…"

"I loved her!"


End file.
